


Brown-eyed Blues (2/5)

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-02-03
Updated: 2002-02-03
Packaged: 2018-11-20 19:57:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11342205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: An odd and quirky romance that starts with a car accident and ends with a home invasion.





	Brown-eyed Blues (2/5)

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

Brown-eyed Blues (2/5)

## Brown-eyed Blues (2/5)

#### by Ganymede

Title: Brown-eyed Blues (2/5)  
Author: Ganymede  
Feedback to:   
Author's Website:   
Status: Complete  
Category: Unclassified  
Pairing (Primary): Skinner/Krycek  
Pairing(s) (Secondary): Mulder/Krycek  
Crossover Fandom (if any):   
Crossover Info (if any):   
Other Pairing Info:   
Rating: NC-17  
Spoilers: Assume everything up to Season Eight (I'm living in denial, boys and girls)  
Permission to Archive:   
Series or Sequel/Prequel:   
Notes: Chapter 1- Battered and Bruised, and Chapter 5 -Breaking and Entering have already been posted and archived various places. In my usual style, I wrote the last chapter first, then the first chapter, then the rest about three months later.  
Warnings:   
Disclaimer: Krycek, Skinner, Mulder, and Scully belong to CC and 1013 productions. Jarod belongs to TNT. The Dalai Lama belongs to the world.  
Summary: An odd and quirky romance that starts with a car accident and ends with a home invasion.

* * *

Chapter 2 - Mulder's Tale Part 1 

Mulder really, really needs to work on his following-directions skills. 

The instructions were painfully simple. He will call me on my cell phone every day at 12:30. I've cleared my schedule for the noon hour, so I can be out of the building and away from prying ears and stray eavesdropping devices when he calls. 

Apparently, that was too complicated for his little brain to comprehend. 

Monday, he did fine. 12:30 on the dot. 

Today? 

10:45. 11:27. 12:02. 

At 12:20 I'm sitting on a bench at the park across the street from JEH, drinking an iced coffee and feeding the few surviving pigeons. Since the city set up nesting boxes and released breeding pairs of peregrine falcons five years ago, the remaining pigeons are very fast, very smart, and very lucky. 

My cell phone chirps. I grab it before it can complete one entire ring. 

"Skinner." 

"Ve haff a breaktrrhough in zee communication front, Herr Skinner." Mulder, doing a bad imitation of Colonel Klink from Hogan's Heroes. That or they've been watching WW II John Wayne movies again. 

"What did we agree on about phone calls? What time were you supposed to call me?" 

Audible grin. "I know. 12:30. I heard you the first three times you gave me the instructions. But I have good news, and I thought I would break out of the rigid western linear mindset and call you early." 

I sighed. Unrepentancy, thy name is Fox Mulder. 

"So, what is the good news that couldn't wait until the appointed time?" Had Ed McMahon show up at my door and announce that I had won a million dollars? Had Clinton have a sudden attack of conscience and resign? Had the little yippy dog next door drop dead from a heart attack? 

"Laptop." Still grinning. When I get home, I'm going to beat the grin off his face. 

"What about a laptop, Agent Mulder?" Letting a little bit of growl slip into my voice. 

"Alex can type. He can only use two fingers so it's excruciatingly slow, and it's more than a little uncomfortable, but he can do it." 

Wow. Damn. After a week and a half of charades and guessing, we can finally communicate with the enigmatic Mr. Krycek. If that is his real name. 

"So what have the two of you been conversing about this morning?" 

Laughter. "Oh, you know. The usual. In the last twenty minutes, Alex has maligned my fashion sense, insulted my parentage, and criticized my ability to make a drinkable cup of coffee." Noise in the background. "Can you hold on for one sec, Walter?.. OK, Alex..I will..right now..Walter, Alex wanted me to tell you that if you try to feed him applesauce one more time, he'll slit your throat with a sharpened spoon. He wants spicy. One more mention of baby food, and you die in your sleep." 

Welcome back, Alex. It looks like things are about to get interesting on the home front. 

"Mulder, let Alex know that I will be bringing home something more to his liking for dinner tonight. My last meeting starts at four, so I should be back to the condo by six, six thirty at the latest." Flipping the phone close. 

Walking back to my office, grinning. Alex Krycek is back. The fun is about to start. 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ 

I spend a lot of time just watching Alex. 

You have to watch him very carefully in order to see. He's been trained, or he's trained himself, not to show anything in his face. He thinks he's the master of Blank-slate Zen. 

He's not as good as he thinks he is. 

There are emotions, feelings swirling behind those smoky-green eyes. If you take the time, and pay attention, you can see what's going on inside that pretty, banged-up head of his. Do it long enough, and you can tell what he's thinking. 

He doesn't like that. I can tell. When he catches me watching him, he glares at me. I know, I know, Alex. `Spooky' Mulder's got you under his microscope again. I need to get a life. I need to get a hobby. 

Right now, Alex, you are my hobby. Taking care of you and figuring out what makes you tick. 

He.intrigues me. Fascinates. Mesmerizes. 

He's a jungle cat, sleeping on the couch, wearing one of Walter's cast-off T-shirts, sleeves and neck torn off, and my boxer shorts. Radiating energy, barely contained intensity, even when his eyes are closed and all his muscles are limp. 

His body lies. Sprawled out in front of the television, eyes closed, breathing deep and even, he wants us to think he's asleep. He's not. He wants to observe us for a change, from behind closed eyelids. 

Sometimes I let him get away with it. Sometimes I don't. 

Easiest way to force him to reveal himself is to use your fingertips. Gently, carefully run one finger down from the hollow of his throat to his stomach, over the taped ribs, around the bandages. If he's really asleep, it won't wake him. If he's only pretending, his body responds. 

Beautifully. 

My palms itch to touch him right now. I want to run my hands across every inch of his skin, feel him shudder, squirm beneath me. I want to taste his sweat, rub my chin against his exposed underbelly. 

I want to make him want me as much as I want him. 

I don't have much experience with this.this slow motion seduction. I don't have much experience with men, period. All my previous encounters were secretive, furtive, dark rooms and closets and quiet quiet don't wake up my roommate. 

This isn't like that. This is petting the dangerous animal that could turn around and tear my arm off. Banking heat, letting it simmer, building a conflagration. 

I'm in physical contact with him as often as I can. 

It's part of the job description. 

He's a wild creature, recovering from surgery, unable to hunt or feed for himself. One remaining arm casted, jaw wired, throat bandaged right where a collar would sit, stitched and taped. Injured. Maimed. 

He _has_ to depend on us, on me. To feed him. To bathe him. To give him shots that keep the pain under control. To change his bandages. To keep him alive. 

He doesn't have to like it. 

He doesn't like it. 

I can see the frustration, the anger building up behind his eyes. Disobedient broken body. Let him down again. Getting too old. Weakness that's going to get him killed one of these days. 

I know, I know. Get out of your f*cking head. You don't have to shout at me,Alex. I can hear your thoughts just fine. 

It's the unable to speak part that gets to him the most. 

He's dealing with it a lot better than I would be. I would have gone postal days ago. 

He wants to talk, if for nothing else than to tell me to f*ck off. Leave him alone. Quit taking him apart like a jigsaw puzzle. That and to say, yet again, how bad my coffee-making skills are. 

We communicate pretty well, considering one of us is functionally mute. Between my mind reading and his expressiveness, he gets his point across. The laptop helps too. 

We discovered late last week that, while he can't hold a pencil, he can type without too much pain. One finger, hunt-and-peck. Slow but serviceable. Works best for essay questions, like how does your throat feel today and what do you want me to pick up at the grocery store. Multiple-choice questions, like shower this morning or this afternoon are best answered with the tap-once-for-A-twice-for-B system. Charades just annoys him. Walter always wins. 

Scully has stopped by every day since my weeklong slumber party at Walter's started. Her pretext is to discuss cases with me and examine the patient. Her real reason is to make sure Alex hasn't killed me in my sleep. Silly girl. Alex wouldn't kill me in my sleep. He'd wait until I was awake. 

I'm surrounded by people who believe that the workings of their brain are subtle and unreadable, but are actually transparent as glass. 

Take Scully, for instance. 

On second thought, don't. The last time someone took her, they returned her minus a few important pieces. Leave her right where she is, if you would be so kind. 

This whole situation is driving Scully crazy. She doesn't understand why he's here, and not in a prison infirmary or a hospital. She can't figure out why Walter and I are using our vacation time and rearranging our lives to take care of him. 

Somewhere, deep down, in the bottom of that lovely little brain of hers, she can sense that something else is going on here. The idea that this is somehow.untoward scares the crap out of her. She doesn't want to see it. She has never wanted to see it, even when it's close enough to bite her on her shapely ass. 

That will always be the difference between us. I look at people and try to really see them. She looks away. If that isn't enough, she covers her ears with her hands, closes her eyes, and chants her mantra. "There is a scientific explanation for this. There is a scientific explanation for this." 

The explanation you seek, Dr. Scully, isn't scientific. It's vascular. 

It's a blood pressure thing. You wouldn't understand. 

On the other hand, take Walter. 

Please. 

Once upon a time, I would have danced if the aliens abducted my boss. Lambada'ed, even. He was the bane of my Hoover Building existence, a stiff-necked pencil pusher who got immense joy out of reaming me a new assh*ole every chance he got. No KY and a kiss, either. The fact that I had a raging crush on him didn't help the situation. 

Now, I know better. 

I know him a lot better than he thinks I do. 

Whenever he walks into the room, I start watching Alex, because Alex starts watching him. 

Eyes glued to the man, unreadable expression in his eyes. Somewhere between evaluating the threat and.longing. Even when Alex is lounging on the couch, eyes closed, some part of him is focused on Walter. 

When Walter and Alex are in the same room, Alex gets very still, and very wired. Wound so tight he vibrates. Walter notices it, too. It's pretty hard to ignore, but I swear Skinner gets his jollies off of torquing Alex up even higher. Meeting Alex's intense gaze, forcing Alex to drop his eyes, break the stare-down first. Sitting a little too close, moving in his personal space with impunity. 

Alpha, meet Beta. 

Beta, here's your Alpha. 

It took me better than a week to figure out what was really going on. 

Walter "I-Eat-Sleep-and-Sh*t-Regulations" Skinner has been leaving his marks on Alex in the most interesting places. 

Hickeys on his neck. 

Bite marks on the inside of his thighs, neck and shoulders. 

Rug burns on his knees. 

It looks like I don't need to worry that Alex is spending his nights cuffed out on the balcony. 

He's spending them in Walter's bed. 

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to Ganymede 


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